


Training

by yeaka



Category: Leverage
Genre: M/M, Roughness, Spanking, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 20:52:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8768845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Eliot goes to the hotel room.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for “spanking” prompt on [my bingo card](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/149673766130/fic-bingo).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Leverage or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He shows up fifteen minutes early—always a good practice—and still braces himself when he opens the door. He expects the blow that comes. It’s aimed right at his gut, but he bends back and ducks under, twisting to drive himself through—the door’s kicked shut. Eliot straightens right up, just a fraction too slow—he’s grabbed by the shoulder, spun, and thrown right into the wall.

He bounces off it with a sickening crack and spins out to the side. A few brown strands have already fallen out of his ponytail. They tickle his cheek but aren’t enough to obscure his vision. Quinn wears a victorious grin and gives them both a second to breathe before he lunges for Eliot’s middle. 

Eliot dodges sideways, driven into the bed, and does a quick roll over it—the sheets aren’t tucked in and slide with him, only to be dirtied with Quinn’s shoes a second later when Quinn jumps up to chase him. Eliot’s already across the room and searching for something to use, but there’s nothing within reach before Quinn’s right in front of him again. So he opts for just bare hands, tossing one fist towards Quinn’s jaw. Quinn sidesteps him just in time. Maneuvering right under the arch of Eliot’s arm, Quinn grabs his other wrist and twists him around, shoving him back towards the bed—Eliot goes down to his knees and hits the mattress. It’s a soft landing compared to what he’s used to, though he can tell already the springs are worn. Quinn bears right over him and shoves him up, wrinkling the blankets, but keeps him down face-first in it. Eliot turns onto his side, looking back over his shoulder with ragged breath, and grunts, “This isn’t over.”

“I hope not,” Quinn chuckles while he rearranges both of them. “I booked the room for the night.”

Then he seems satisfied with the way they’re set up—Eliot bent in two over the side of the bed and Quinn right behind him, one of Eliot’s arms twisted back and the other lying in wait. He wants to see what’s going to happen. He has an idea. Quinn proves him right by raining one hand down across Eliot’s ass. It doesn’t sting much through his jeans. He barely winces. He goads, “That all you got?”

Quinn snorts and hits harder the second time, pulling his arm all the way back, but it’s still only a warm up for the third: that blow _smarts_ , and it wracks a real grimace out of Eliot. The fourth is just as poignant. The fifth makes him squirm. By the sixth, he’s clenching his teeth together and wondering which of them is _really_ stronger.

He won the first time. Quinn’s said he didn’t want to completely ruin a pretty face, but that’s bullshit and Eliot _won._ Quinn seems to want to make him pay for it and purrs through the steady stream of blows, “This is for ignoring my first call.” His voice is deep and betrays that he’s more turned on than annoyed. 

Eliot mutters, “Was on a job,” and swears at the next hit. He’s surprised Quinn let him keep his pants on; he’d be turning red otherwise. Actually, probably still is. Quinn’s a force to be reckoned with and makes the mattress groan for each go, though Eliot’s noises are worse—he’s getting hard as a rock and breathing hard from the fight and now _this_ ; he wants it to really sting when Quinn—

Quinn misses Eliot’s ass, hitting his thighs instead, and Eliot cries out and _writhes_ , seething a second later, “ _Take your pants off._ ” It’s a flat order. Hardison would jump at that tone.

But Quinn just purrs, “Naughty boys don’t get to make requests,” and hits him again.

So Eliot waits for the next blow to finish, then _roars_ , shoving back with a torrential rush of strength. It topples them both over together. He can feel Quinn hit the floor with a startled grunt, and he’s already up and twisting, turning to sit right back down in Quinn’s lap, now facing him properly. Quinn’s eyes are just as dilated as Eliot’s must be, face just as flushed. They stare at each other for one heated moment.

Then Eliot wrenches Quinn’s belt off and starts in at his fly, surging down to kiss him _hard_.


End file.
